


the barrier between

by Cookabeara



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Light Angst, Mild Blood, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26590693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookabeara/pseuds/Cookabeara
Summary: Good friends were supposed to be honest with each other. Discovering certain family circumstances through that honesty, though, made it difficult for Petra to reciprocate.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez & Petra Macneary
Comments: 14
Kudos: 21





	the barrier between

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to explore the dynamic between two of my favorite eagle kids!!! This was structured to sort of take place between their support conversations.

Of course there was a part of her that didn’t want to look at him after what he had said. It was wrong of her to be mad. The fault wasn’t his — he looked just as pained to share the information. The rational side of her commended his honesty. The less-rational side?

Well, that was the side that left a training sword splintered beyond repair. She knew she cried herself to sleep that night, because her head throbbed the next morning.

She didn’t want to lose the friend whose grin she looked forward to seeing every day; the friend whose encouraging words did more to motivate her than he would probably ever know. That was why her chest felt heavy when he avoided her eyes for the next few days.

Eventually, though, things seemed more or less normal. Caspar greeted her with his wide smile, his booming voice, and a slap on the back that was full of so much spirit she remembered how to bury that anger and sadness again.

The class had collected in the dining hall. Caspar and Petra had cleaned their plates already, and the young nobleman was eyeing the bowl that sat in the center of the table to Petra’s left.

He looked up at her, a spark in his cyan eyes that had her leaning forward in anticipation. She could read Caspar like a book — there was about to be a challenge in his voice.

“Hey, Petra,” he began. Petra hummed, prompting him to continue, her own smirk growing wide as her friend’s did the same. “How many grapes can you fit in your mouth?”

She raised an eyebrow and glanced at the bowl.

“I have never given this thinking,” she admitted. They both grinned, features laced with curiosity.

“Ah, bummer. I figured you would be the one to break my record.”

“That is what you are believing?”

“Heh, yeah? I can always set a new one, though,” he taunted.

“Then let us be finding out the answer.”

Both of their hands made a dive for the bowl, the violent movement causing it to tip as it was dragged closer between them. They watched each other as they shoved the fruit in their mouths one-by-one (Caspar attempted more, but it proved inefficient when they tumbled from his fist before they could reach their destination).

Perhaps it was the excitement of the competition that left Petra momentarily ignorant of her surroundings. She didn’t consider how uncouth she likely looked — cheeks bulging with grapes and a hand over her mouth to keep them from slipping — until she caught Ferdinand staring at them in horror. Embarrassment crept up her neck, but it was soon halted by the sight of Edelgard across the table. She’d slid a gloved hand up to hide her mouth, which to most might have seemed like a similar reaction of shock; however, the hiccup of her shoulders and her quiet snicker did not go undetected by Petra.

If she could, Petra would have smiled, but the grapes obstructed such a feat. Instead, she settled for being prideful in silence. She’d gotten Edelgard to laugh — though she was probably the only one aside from Hubert to notice — and, boy, did that feel great!

The hilarity of the situation only hit Petra when she and Caspar made eye contact again. They both choked out what was supposed to be a laugh, jabbing their index fingers mockingly at each other. Soon after, they finally spat their mouthfuls unceremoniously onto their empty plates — which Petra at least had the dignity to hide (to the best of her ability) under the table. What followed was Ferdinand very sternly chewing them out for their behavior. Well, it was more so directed at Caspar, who just rolled his eyes and grumbled.

As free as she felt, taking part in Caspar’s antics (“childish,” perhaps, but what mattered was it was fun), the air remained tense. Something ate at the both of them; Petra could still see it whenever Caspar looked at her. As for her, well — she tried her damndest to bury anything bitter that bubbled up inside her. To let such emotions overcome her would be a shame she couldn’t live down.

Meanwhile, Caspar seemed to thrive wearing his heart on his sleeve. Must have come from the liberation from inheritance of any kind, Petra figured. Was it selfish of her to envy such a circumstance?

Even so, they still shared their joys, triumphs, and pride. It was hard not to smile in his presence, especially when he seemed to do it so often. It just so happened that Caspar was one of the few who would beam at the mention of his father — and that was the smile that made Petra’s stomach twist and turn in a way like nothing else. A beautiful smile he could have at the cost of hers.

Whatever the reason for it, Petra didn’t want to chase it away. She seemed to do that more and more — her very presence was pushing a dear friend further and further away.

So why wasn’t she doing anything to fix it?

She thought little of the overcast sky above them as they sparred, instead focusing her attention on Caspar’s sloppier than usual movements. He was distracted, and naturally Petra assumed it was because of her. She wanted to yell — at him or herself, she wasn’t quite sure — but she swallowed it.

Then, with a rumble, the sky opened up and began to pour. Caspar slipped, weapon clattering to the ground, and landed in the dirt. The frustration lodged in Petra’s throat was gone.

“Caspar!” she cried, throwing her own weapon aside. She pulled him to his feet, ushering him beneath the roof to shield him from the rain. Their uniforms were already soaked through, damp shirts now clinging to their skin.

He didn’t utter anything, and he didn’t need to. The way his whole body trembled, the way his eyes were wide and wet with tears, and the haste in the way he clamped his hands over his ears — Petra had never seen Caspar so terrified, and it made something in her ache.

“I am here,” she whispered, pulling him into a tight, protective embrace. She shivered at the sensation of cold, rain-soaked fabric pressing further on her skin, but any consideration for her own comfort was shoved aside.

“Sh-Shit,” Caspar hissed, leaning into Petra, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” she asked, brow knit with worry. For a split second, Petra’s guilt returned with a jolt before it ebbed to the back of her mind once more.

“It’s...stupid of me. Clinging to you like this because of a little thunder.” A sad chuckle. Petra shook her head, wincing at the discomfort of the added weight in her hair.

“No, Caspar. We are all having fears.” She bit her lip and squeezed him tighter, resting a cheek against his hair. “I have no shame to be giving you. Instead, let me be here for your crying.”

“Th-Thanks, Petra.” He sniffled. “You really are a great friend.”

Petra was ever thankful for her tears to be hidden by the rainfall.

Five whole years passed by, and Petra found herself awake some of those nights, haunted by her thoughts. The nightmares that had her jolting awake were those in which she held her comrades, limp and lifeless, in her arms. But none of them left her more shaken than those where her own blade was what dripped with Caspar’s blood. She would sit up, panting, and run her fingers over each hand to confirm that it hadn’t really been her who succumbed to some false sense of revenge.

Caspar had been nothing but kind and honest. Their moments of heated competitions and friendly frolic warmed her heart. He’d always seen her as a companion, a rival — someone with which he wished to be on equal footing, and Petra knew she felt the same. She was never the simpler, lesser animal in his eyes that she was to so many in the Empire; this was why the thought of her giving in to that beast-like bloodthirst disgusted her so. Her anger wasn’t his fault. She had told him that. So why had it taken her all this time to come to terms with it herself?

It was late, and waking up from yet another nightmare left her delirious. She stared at Caspar’s door, in disbelief at what she was about to do.

But Caspar had given his heart to her for all this time, and she had promised to do the same in return.

Caspar answered her knock almost immediately. His eyes were ringed and wide.

“Petra?” he croaked, voice still heavy with sleep despite how alert he looked. The sound of her name already pushed her to the point of crumbling.

“I am...I am sorry,” she muttered, lifting a hand to her throat as the sting of tears in her eyes sent an ache to her stomach.

“Petra, why are you apologizing?”

She shook her head. How could she possibly find the words to say everything?

It was rough, but Caspar pulled her inside. Her face hit his chest, and suddenly she couldn’t stop the tears anymore. She cried until her breathing steadied and her head hurt.

When she lifted her head, her hand immediately flew up to hide the trail of snot that had leaked down her lip, not that it was very visible in the dim light of a single candle. She realized with utter embarrassment that it must have gotten on Caspar’s night shirt. This suspicion was confirmed when he angled his head down and laughed.

“Wait a second,” Caspar told her, turning around to rummage through his belongings until he could procure a handkerchief. He handed it to Petra with a grin. “It’s clean, I absolutely promise.”

Giggling, Petra dabbed her nose clean and gave one last sniffle before melting into a smile.

“You have my gratitude, Caspar.”

“I...wow. Sorry, I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry before.”

“...should I not have—”

“No, Petra. Thank you for trusting me. Whatever’s on your mind, you can tell me when you’re ready, okay?” He scooped her into another hug, and Petra threw her arms around him to return it with equal heart and vigor. He grunted. “Wow, you’re strong! All that training’s paid off for you!”

“You too, Caspar!” Her laugh was muffled by Caspar’s chest. “Thank you, again, for...lending me your shoulder.”

“Any time, Petra. For you.”

They stayed still for some time, Caspar’s forehead resting in the crook of Petra’s neck as she leaned into him, holding each other tightly — neither wanting the other to slip away again.

“So,” Caspar uttered suddenly, raising his head to look Petra in the eye. He still looked weary and tired, but there was a flame lit deep within his gaze.

“Hm?” Petra hummed, a smirk climbing across her tear-streaked face.

“I was wondering...how many grapes do you think you can fit in your mouth? I think you might have a chance at beating my new record. If you’re up for it.”


End file.
